A Sweet Whisper
by Banana Kisses
Summary: The thought of being chained to this violent prince, who saw absolutely nothing good in her, made Elara want to weep until she had no tears left. Until she had washed off the feeling of his hands on her skin. Until she had cried herself an ocean that could carry her far away from Whitefire and Archeon and Tiberias Calore. (The story of how Elara came to despise her husband.)
While nearly all the members of the court would be careful to guard their thoughts around any member of House Merandus, it seemed that Prince Tiberias did not think this was a real concern. Ever since Elara had first begun to make public appearances when she was twelve, the prince's mental chatter would always jump out at her, even from afar. At such a young age, the violent and bitter edge of his thoughts proved to be bothersome—not because this was something unusual, but because they all seemed to be directed at her, personally. More than once, she had heard him sneer her name in his head.

Elara did not know why.

She had barely spoken to him, other than the polite greeting that was so familiar to her that it poured off her lips like running water. She said the same thing to everyone.

"I do wish you a happy birthday, Your Highness," she had told him once, as she dipped into a humble curtsey.

Tiberias, who had just turned fourteen, was obviously forcing his smile. It was his birthday celebration, a wonderful party, and yet he still seemed snide and displeased. She had noticed him downing several glasses of strong wine. "Thank you, Lady Merandus. It is truly a pleasure to see your lovely face here."

It wasn't. He obviously didn't want to see her ever again; Elara couldn't find out why, though, even as she raked through his head for the reason. She then thought that it would be prudent to make herself scarce around the prince.

 ** _Fear_**

 ** _[feer]_**

 ** _A distressing emotion caused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined._**

Her brothers had called her a crybaby. She couldn't expect herself to live long if she let every little negative thought scare her. And Elara knew this. She knew this very well. But she couldn't help the fear. The worst part of it all was that Tiberias was well aware that she could hear everything he thought.

He was talking to her personally. And every time he did, it chilled Elara to the core.

He told her that he _didn't like her_. Well, that wasn't too unusual. Not many had warm feelings for whispers.

He told her that every time she spoke, _he wanted to shut her up_. Sometimes by kicking her out of the room. Sometimes by punching her right in the nose. In those thoughts, her silver blood would always trickle down and ruin her favourite dress—somehow, he knew that it was the velvet one: long, modest and inlaid with pretty sapphires.

She was able to stay away from him for a time, until her father decided that it was high time for her to become an aristocrat in earnest and prepare for her supposed only reason to live: a Queenstrial victory. The thought of being chained to this violent prince, who drank whenever he was upset, who saw absolutely nothing good in her, made Elara want to weep until she had no tears left. Until she had cried herself an ocean that could wash her far away from Whitefire and Archeon and Tiberias Calore.

 ** _Despair_**

 ** _[dih-spair]_**

 ** _A loss of hope; hopelessness._**

If there was anything somewhat good or amusing that came from this, though, it was that Tiberias' internal rage taught Elara a whole glut of new words. She had always loved words; they were her dearest and only friends. They allowed her to express how she felt, and to decode the feelings of others. It was the inherent advantage of having been born a whisper: she had access to heads filled to the brim with so many new words.

 ** _To Decimate_**

 ** _[des-uh-meyt]_**

 ** _To_** ** _destroy_** ** _a g_** ** _reat_** ** _number_** ** _or_** ** _proportion_** ** _of something._**

She was brought back to Whitefire after a self-imposed exile in her mother's private seaside house, where she was free to live with her words. She would spend her time, between lessons and forced outings with Antonia Merandus, writing down her new friends in a thick notebook: her personal dictionary. This was the one thing she made sure to take with her back to Archeon. She figured that she would very much need it, after being forced in with such a large group of noble girls. Noble girls who either ignored her or spat on the ground she walked on. She could tell that they didn't like her either.

But she could deal with that. Their hatred was nothing to be offended at—she found that she couldn't even really blame them. She figured that if she had been in their position, she too would be hostile around the little freak that could invade her privacy on a whim, whenever she pleased. It was very unnerving.

Not nearly as unnerving as being that freak, though. It had been a while since she had heard Tiberias' venomous mind, and being exposed to him in full-force made her want to run away and hide. It gave her a pounding headache. Now, she was forced to see him every day at training and at social events. She was expected to befriend him. To bewitch him. To seduce him.

The first thoughts she had seen herself naked in were his. It came as a brutal shock, and Elara couldn't keep her flesh from crawling and her stomach from writhing in terror. He sat across from her at supper, and while everyone went on eating merrily, she was rooted to the spot, Tiberias' lewd fantasy sending shivers up her spine. No other whisper was present at that dinner—it was just members of their training group. That was probably why he chose to think of such things then. He never tormented her with this when she was around her family.

In those thoughts, she was always nude. She was always screaming off the top of her lungs. She was always bruised, often bleeding, a horribly tortured expression on her face. At times, he would just torture her with a metal instrument or a toy. At times, he would fuck her himself, ignoring her pleas for him to stop. He took great pleasure in her pain, as well as the heat of her soft flesh.

This terrified the young girl. Because should he be so inclined, he could treat her like this if they were to be wed. She could fight him off, yes, but in the end, he would always have more power over her. Just the knowledge that his thoughts could somehow become reality made Elara continue to beg her father to send her far, far away.

Lord Merandus was not to be persuaded. He had a specific fate in mind for his daughter, and she was going to tie in with the royal line whether she liked it or not. She would win Queenstrial, or she would not be welcome back home.

* * *

 **I've always hoped that there was more to Elara than being just a power-hungry queen, but sadly, I don't think there's gonna be anything more in canon about her now that she's dead. So, I've decided to tell my own take. If you like this story, please be sure to favourite, follow and review! This will probably a four or five parter.**

 **~Banana Kisses**


End file.
